Lord of the Silent Kingdom

14. Crusaders: Wolves on the Border

The movement north and east went too smoothly for the Captain-General. "I worry when things go right," he told his staff as the army settled in to rest near the monastery complex at Dominagua. "You people can't be that good at what you do."

The backhanded compliment sparked smiles.

The high excitement soon faded.

Principate Doneto brought news from his cousin as Hecht was about to resume movement. "His Holiness is involved in delicate negotiations, Captain-General. He wants you to hold off a few weeks."

"Why? He's been so keen to get on with it for so long."

"I'm baffled, too. I'm not part of the inner circle, cousin or not."

"Does this mean stay here? Can I position myself better for when he turns me loose? Are there any other new constraints?"

Principate Doneto seemed disconcerted. He glanced round as though displeased by the presence of so many witnesses. "You just shouldn't take the campaign into the Connec. Yet."

Hecht surveyed his staff. He and they never stopped working. During the rest several notions had gotten schemed out. The professionals wanted to get the maximum return from the city militias during the short time they would be available.

Legally, they could be kept in the field only forty days. The sands were racing through that hourglass. There were ways to balance that. Pay to those willing to serve longer and rotate replacements in at different times.

Hecht asked, "He does realize that in a month this army will start shrinking? And that bad weather will be along soon?"

"I'm reporting, Captain-General. That's all. I can send a letter voicing your concerns, but I can't make him read it. I can't make him pay attention if he does."

"I want to move up to the frontier."

Doneto shrugged. "You're the military commander."

Hecht turned to Titus Consent. "Are those scouts back yet?"

"One party. The ferry crossing will be tough with this many men. It could take a week."

"It took us all day last time with just a few hundred. But we need to secure it. Even if we can't go over we can control traffic. Colonel Ghort. Let's take a walk. I want to pick your brain."

Hecht paid Doneto no more heed, which probably irked the Principate. He did not care. He had his own personal Principate. Muniero Delari traveled slowly but he traveled. His presence assured Doneto's best behavior.

There was no sign of trouble between them.

How long could that continue?

Of more immediate concern was the depth of Pinkus Ghort's commitment to his sponsor.

Doneto thought he owned Pinkus Ghort. Pinkus might not agree but would still feel indebted. It was no secret that he still lived in the Principate's town house.

"What's up?" Ghort asked once they were safe from avesdroppers. Hecht's lifeguards maintained an acceptable cparation but were close enough to intervene if evil showed is face.

"Recall what we talked about during the ride up? Just tossing things around?"

"We talked about a lot of stuff. Gad, it's nice. I like it cool like this."

It was windy, almost cloudless, and unseasonably cool. "Might affect the vintage."

"Yeah. Probably. What do you think?"

"I have no idea. I don't understand wine. The Sonsan nation is what I'm thinking about. Check the map. It's barely seventy miles from here."

A Bronte Doneto involved in a scheme with the Special Office would not find a raid on Sonsa to his taste. If Ghort was in tight…

"You thinking just a raid? Or a general chastisement of the city for being unfriendly?"

"I'm thinking, make Sublime love us by forcing the Three Families to bend the knee."

"And maybe get a closer look at Bit and her crew, too?"

"Absolutely. I do still want the real story on Vali."

They stopped walking, looked across slopes and hills covered with vines. It was beautiful country. Ghort said so. "The Connec is, too. What we saw of it."

"We'll get to see that part again. Sublime is close to obsessed with taming Raymone Garete."

"Lot of that infecting the Society, too. I'd as soon not. It won't be close to easy. Even with a pair of heavyweight sorcerers tagging along."

"One sorcerer. Principate Delari isn't here to participate. He's here to keep an eye on your boss."

"On my boss? On you? I thought he'd, like, adopted you."

"On Doneto."

"Doneto? What do you mean, Doneto? I don't work for him. I work for the City. What do you mean, Delari wants to keep an eye on him?"

"You still live in his house, Pinkus. And he thinks you're his man. He still tries to lay claim on me, sometimes. I don't know what the problem is between him and Delari. Maybe it's all just Delari. But there is bad blood."

"He hides it pretty well."

"He does. I wouldn't know about it at all if it weren't for the boy."

"Armand? There's something weird about that one, Pipe."

"Wow! Can't get anything past you."

"What I mean is… Can it. The demon himself." Bronte Doneto had come out for a stroll. Not unusual. But his constitutional kept bringing him closer.

Hecht said, "Go snatch Sonsa. If you need more than the Brothen contingent…"

"They should be plenty. How soon?"

"I'm done telling. It's your mission, now. Do what you need to do and go when you're ready. Your Grace."

"Gentlemen."

Ghort said, "I was just telling Pipe that this looks like the place I want to retire, I get lucky and round up enough booty. Go into the winemaking business."

Hecht said, "You'd probably suck down all the profits."

Ghort's man Bo Biogna left camp with a picked team that same night. Next morning the entire Brothen contingent departed. Hecht told the morning staff meeting, "I've given Pinkus a special mission. If our master unleashes us, he'll catch up."

There were questions. Hecht did not answer them. These men did not need to know.

Principate Bronte Doneto was among those asking. Maybe Pinkus had moved beyond a sense of obligation to him.

Maybe.

"Forget Ghort," he said. "We need to move up to the Dechear. Colonel Smolens, I suggested a feasibility study to you and Lieutenant Consent. Mainly to keep you out of trouble. Did you follow up?"

Smolens admitted, "We did. It should be easy. Sir." The honorific added only because members of the Collegium were present.

Titus Consent said, "There is no plan for stopping you. Assassination is their only worry."

Hecht considered Muniero Delari from the corner of his eye. The old man showed no special interest. He hoped that meant this would not get to Osa Stile. "Good. Get out warning orders to prepare to move up. Smolens, you get the other job."

"Is that an execute, sir?" Smolens asked. He was eager.

"Put it together and do it."

Delari was paying attention, now. And suddenly suspicious.

Whatever anyone thought, Piper Hecht was still his own man.

The Patriarchal army drifted westward, covering barely a hundred miles in ten days. Forward elements reached the Dechear and staked out camps at likely crossing points. The nearest surviving bridge was way upstream, at Viscesment. The Captain-General divided his forces, the better to reduce the strain on Ormienden and to remain tactically prepared. Principate Doneto chose to accompany the southernmost division. The same favored by the Captain-General himself. This was the largest division that would strike toward Antieux. Doneto had begun to smell blood. He had a score to settle.

There was work aplenty even for Principates, including turns watching over the bridgehead the Captain-General established on the west bank. Doneto and Delari alike spent hours interviewing locals and itinerant members of the Society, trying to gather solid facts about the strange events plaguing the Connec.

Smugly, Piper Hecht noted that neither Principate had missed Colonel Smolens. They assumed him to be with one of the other divisions.

Smolens would do to Viscesment what Pinkus Ghort meant to do to Sonsa.

Only Hecht's immediate staff knew. Enough of a bond had formed that even Clej Sedlakova enjoyed belonging to an inner circle putting something over.

Hecht was with Sedlakova, reviewing recollections of the country round Antieux. "They won't make the same mistakes. They'll have built more cisterns and those will be full. Titus says they've reengineered the main gate, adding machicolations and a second portcullis operated from a second guardroom in order to make treachery more difficult."

"I wasn't putting much faith in the Society's secret friends, anyway."

"That may still work."

"What's the ground like? Is mining an option?"

"I think it's on bedrock. That and a height advantage are why it's sited a little back from the river. We'll see something similar, on a larger scale, when we get to Castreresone."

"How high are the walls? There'll be a lot of deep topsoil around if winemaking is serious business."

"You lost me there."

"Something we don't do much anymore, that they did a lot in ancient times. Build a ramp to the top of the wall. Raise it higher than the wall if you can, so you can attack downhill."

Clever members of the Brotherhood of War had done that in the Holy Lands in the early crusades. Praman castles were no longer sited where that would be possible.

Titus Consent entered the room, which was on the second level in an old windmill. The mill had not worked in years. There was no obvious reason for it having been abandoned.

Hecht said, "Something?"

"Several. All hitting at once."

"And?"

"Smolens has done his job. Had a little problem with Immaculate's guards, though."

"They didn't back down?"

"Not soon enough. Smolens got the bad end of the casualty equation."

"I was afraid of that. But why were they still there if the Empress went over to Sublime?"

"I don't know. But Braunsknechts do take themselves seriously. Which could be a problem."

"Meaning?"

"We've got one downstairs. He wants to see you."

"Smolens took prisoners?"

"This one came from Plemenza. He doesn't know what happened in Viscesment. Yet."

It would not be long before the news reached the ends of the Chaldarean world.

That world now knew that Patriarchal troops had occupied Sonsa. Already there were rumors that Sublime had attacked the city because of a deal he had made with Dateon or Aparion. Or possibly Peter of Navaya, whose Plataduran allies wanted the Sonsan holdings on Artecipea.

This Braunsknecht came from Plemenza? That meant from the Princess Helspeth.

This had to be handled carefully.

"This Braunsknecht say why he's here?"

"Because he wants to talk to you. He thinks you'll want to talk to him."

"I don't get it."

"He did say it has to do with the monster in the Jago Mountains."

"Ah." That was much less dangerous. "There was something else?"

"Colonel Ghort is ready to leave Sonsa. The Three Families have sworn allegiance to Sublime. They've promised the use of their fleets come time for a new crusade into the Holy Lands, hoping that comes soon. They have sailors starving and ships rotting at the quayside while Platadura is taking control all over the western Mother Sea."

Hecht nodded. The real message was that Pinkus had taken prisoners and had dug out all the information he could. "That's good news. Anything else?"

"One more thing. Colonel Smolens says there were some weird people in Viscesment when he got there. They took off before he could catch them. Into the Connec. Just a creepy feeling, he says, but he wants you to stick close to your lifeguards."

Hecht shivered. His bodyguards were all down below. He did not like having them so he tended to keep them at a distance. "All right. Tell Madouc I need to see him, soon as you're done here."

"Yes, sir. One more thing."

"You said that already."

"I almost forgot this."

"Well?"

"Count Raymone may be more clever than we've credited."

"What's he done now?"

"It's what it looks like he's ready to do. He's telling all the Connecten Devedians and Dainshaus that they should emigrate somewhere where Sublime and the Society are powerless."

"Does that make sense? He'd deprive himself of his educated class."

"It does if he thinks they're spying. Which they've been reluctant to do. The Society has won us no friends. It makes even more sense if he expects to lose his war. We won't have anyone to keep records. Or any records, either, probably."

"Strategic thinking, not tactical. Interesting. So. Unless you have another one more thing, bring the Braunsknecht, then fill Madouc in on the warning from Smolens."

Hecht met the Braunsknecht outside the mill. He frowned. "I should know you, shouldn't I?"

"Algres Drear, sir. I commanded the company that took you prisoner when you were withdrawing from your previous Connecten adventure."

"Ah. Yes. The Plemenzan captivity. I hope you didn't offend Bronte Doneto too much, back then. He's a member of the Collegium, now. And he's here with us. Again."

Hecht studied Drear while he talked. The man was in his middle thirties, looking older. Gray speckled his beard and temples. His brown eyes were almost soullessly without motion. This was a hard man used to the hardships of the field. Who found himself in too comfortable circumstances in his current assignment. And who was not troubled in the least by the possibility of enduring the displeasure of a member of the Collegium.

Stupidity? Or ignorance?

Hecht said, "You asked to see me. I'm giving you time. In deference to the family you serve. But I do have a war to get ready for. So what do you want?" He stifled any hope that Drear had brought some special message from Princess Helspeth.

"The Princess Apparent has a request. I don't know why she thinks you'd grant it. But it isn't my place to think."

"Anything within reason. And politically feasible."

"She wants to know how to kill a god."

Not much could have been a bigger surprise. "Kill a god?"

"An Instrumentality. A demon, if you will."

"I don't understand." How much had Ferris Renfrow told Princess Helspeth?

"You do. You killed the Gray Walker. At al-Khazen. Deliberately and methodically. The Princess needs the know how."

"I'll bite. Why?"

Drear talked about the monster preying on travelers in the Jago Mountains.

"It's a giant bug?"

"Not many people have survived to describe it. The Grand Duke Omro va Still-Patter is the best known and most reliable. He managed to cut a claw off it. He kept the claw. He describes the monster as a huge praying mantis with a lot of extra legs."

"I know the thing. It was at al-Khazen. If I understand right, it used to be a man. Now it's an insane Instrumentality. I didn't make the connection then but I think it was active just north of Alicea last year."

"How do we kill it?"

He did not want to admit that he had an answer. He was not sure why. The secret was spreading, if slowly. But no one understood why it worked.

Captain Drear read him well. "How do I reassure you?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure why I'm worried."

"Is it because you don't know how?"

"It's easy. You didn't need to come to me. The Princess saw the Gray Walker destroyed."

"Not strictly true, sir. Not strictly true." Drear removed a doeskin wallet from inside his shirt. "The Princess's personal appeal, sir."

Hecht accepted the letter. He read. The contents underscored just how much the girl trusted this man. Otherwise, she would never have dared commit such thoughts to paper. "She trusts you more than I could ever trust anyone. I suspect with reason, because your mission is to protect her. Why should I trust you, though?"

Drear understood him. "True. I serve the Grail Empire. I can't make you trust me. Maybe you can explain why it's important to you not to let anyone know how to dispatch the Instrumentalities of the Night."

"But…" Yes. Everyone did know. Iron and silver. The metals that had afforded some protection for thousands of years. But…

He had not worked it out himself until just a short time ago, despite countless hours spent on the puzzle.

His response in Esther's Wood had been sheer panicky inspiration, silver sprayed out in a blast too wide for the bogon to avoid. He had been lucky. That particular bogon had been especially sensitive to silver. Any iron in the blast would have been there by happenstance.

Now his artillerists nurtured secret charges for their falcons. Three charges of godshot for each of the twelve weapons he now possessed.

Reason eventually led him to the conclusion that it wasn't the fact of the charge that had slain the bogon in the Holy Lands. Nor the Gray Walker at al-Khazen. Instrumentalities of the Night had coped with iron and silver from earliest times.

So what was different now?

Firepowder.

Firepowder weapons, falcons or the light tubes employed by the Devedian fusiliers at al-Khazen, flung their missiles in a velocity too extreme to track and evade.

He read portions of the letter again, amazed that the girl could write such things, then trust anyone to bring them to him unread.

He went to the mill doorway. "Titus. You still in there? Yes? Find Bechter. I need to borrow Drago Prosek." He told Drear, "It'll take a while to organize."

Drear just nodded.

Hecht led the way inside the mill and upstairs. "Find yourself a seat." He collected quill and paper and began to write. Drear waited quietly. Hecht sanded the finished product. He was folding it when Sergeant Bechter arrived, huffing and puffing.

Bechter said, "Prosek's on his way. What's up?" He spent one glance on Algres Drear. And took the man's measure.

"Our new good friends in the Empire have a problem. Only we can solve it. I want Prosek to go with Captain Drear and handle it."

Bechter nodded. He gave Drear another glance. "Braunsknecht?"

"I am. Brotherhood of War?"

"Retired."

"Of course."

Drago Prosek arrived. "Permission to enter, sir?"

"Get in here," Hecht said. "Prosek. This gentleman is Captain Drear of the Braunsknecht lifeguard of the Princess Apparent of the Empire. He's brought an appeal for assistance. I've decided to accede to the Princess's request. Her friendship could serve us well."

"Yes sir." Without any suggestion of a reservation about his superior's thinking.

"I'm going to give you a chance to show us what you can do."

"Yes sir. What would that be, sir?"

"Take two falcons to Plemenza. With their crews. I'd recommend Varley and Stern, but the choice is yours. Take two special loads for each falcon."

Prosek's eyebrows jumped. His eyes widened. "Sir…"

"There's something ugly in the Jago Mountains. Something of the Night. You were at al-Khazen. Captain Drear tells me this is the monster that got away from us there."

Prosek's eyes got bigger. Even Bechter showed some reaction.

Hecht continued. "Go figure out how to ambush it, or trap it, then kill it. Do whatever you have to do. Then get yourself back here because by that time we'll probably be besieging Antieux and we'll want you there to starve with us."

"Yes sir." Ignoring his Captain-General's tone. Prosek turned to Drear. "Drago Prosek, sir." He extended a hand. Drear seemed surprised.

Hecht met Drear's eye. "That's what I can do."

"Good enough. I think. Thank you, sir."

"Take this letter to the Princess." He passed the doeskin wallet back. "Prosek."

"Sir?"

"Don't let these people tell you what to do. Not even the Princess herself. Make them support you. You're smart enough to know what needs doing. And bright enough to figure out how to do it."

"Yes sir."

"All right. Everyone go. I have thinking to do."

Once the last man left, Hecht read Helspeth's letter for the fourth time. And still could not believe the girl trusted Drear that much. Although, mainly, it revolved around her plea for help ridding the Jagos of the monster.

Titus Consent told Hecht, "There's a problem getting intelligence out of the Connec."

Hecht was tired. The less the army did the more work there was for him. He did not want to hear more bad news. He wanted to go to bed. Maybe to dream about Anna. Or Helspeth Ege. Who was an infatuation he did not yet underhand. He sighed. "Tell me."

"The Society is killing us. Their attitude toward Devedians is black and white. Not Chaldarean? Bad. Kill. So the Connecten Deves won't deal. And they're all going away anyway."

"Explain that."

"The Devedian and Dainshau minorities are emigrating. The Society is so obnoxious that even Maysaleans and some Chaldareans are going with them, some places."

"Really?" His preconception was that he would face raving fanatics who considered yielding to Sublime worse than martyrdom.

"At the best of times the Connec is a loosely structured realm. Anarchy is one tomorrow away. Connectens have enjoyed a comfortable life since Imperial times. They'd tolerate anything as long as people tolerated them. Until Sublime decided to stick his nose in."

"So… Oh-oh." Principate Delari had appeared.

Some people felt no need to get permission to drop in on the Captain-General. All of them were members of the Collegium.

"See you later," Consent said. He was not comfortable around Principate Delari. Despite the man's sponsorship.

Delari watched Consent scamper downstairs. "That man is awfully timid for a soldier."

"You have no idea how much you terrify ordinary people, do you?"

Puzzled, Delari asked, "Why would he be afraid of me?"

"To ordinary folks you're like Cloven Februaren is to you." Who was in Hecht's thoughts because Redfearn Bechter had seen him yesterday. "Only more so."

Delari was not pleased. But he brushed it aside. "I hear Colonel Ghort is coming back to us."

"He will be. I'm glad you came. Saves me looking for you. Pinkus should have prisoners who may explain what we saw there before. Who may tell us who Vali is. But Principate Doneto might want to keep us away from them."

Delari had not mentioned his conflict with Doneto since that fierce encounter in the catacombs.

"And you're afraid Colonel Ghort is still beholden to Doneto."

"Yes."

"Doneto doesn't know what Ghort was doing. Besides taming a republic that wasn't friendly to the Patriarch. He hasn't bothered to find out. That tells me he has no interest in Sonsa."

"Why is he here?"

"Sublime sent him."

"But…"

"All very complicated, right?"

"I don't know how you people live the way you do."

"You're talking? Never mind. I'm sure Bronte Doneto has motives for being here that aren't those of his cousin. Nor those of any conspiracy to thwart Sublime. Doneto has an abiding hatred for Antieux. Bad things happened to him there."

"He asked for them."

"That isn't relevant, Piper. If an enemy is so arrogant as to defend himself and defeat you…"

Titus Consent returned without being invited. He was pale and confused. "Sir, there's a message from Colonel Smolens. Somebody assassinated Immaculate."

"What? Damnit! Damnit! I wish I could swear like Pinkus. Get in here, Titus. Talk to us."

"That's it. Somebody got into the Palace of the Kings. The Braunsknechts weren't on duty anymore. There wasn't any reason for a heavy guard. Immaculate had been overthrown."

"I understand."

Consent continued. "He's made arrests. The assassins were clever getting to Immaculate but not clever getting away."

"The news isn't a hundred percent bad, then, is it?"

"The men they caught were all members of the Society, Captain-General. They were defiling and destroying symbols of the Viscesment reign when they were captured."

"That isn't good," Principal Delari observed. "We've just gotten us thousands of new enemies."

Hecht shook his head. "What were they thinking? Never mind. I know. The human capacity for stupidity is infinite. Instead of a crusade against the Night, how about we exterminate stupidity? Titus. Send a courier right now. Smolens should question those assassins publicly. Then execute them pubbcly. And fast. I won't condone evil even in God's Name. What do you want?"

Principate Doneto had appeared, also uninvited.

Principate Delari said, "Deep breaths, Piper. No matter how angry you are, you can't address a member of the Collegium that way."

"My apologies, Your Grace. You've heard the news that has me so distressed?"

"I overheard your instructions to Lieutenant Consent. They're a bit draconian. A response that dramatic is sure to blunt the initiative of Society members."

Principate Delari caught Hecht's elbow and squeezed with surprising force. "Stifle it, Piper. Bronte, anything less will provoke a firestorm."

"Well. Yes. You could be right. Those people are becoming too full of their mission. Lieutenant, forget your orders."

Delari squeezed till Hecht ground his teeth.

Doneto continued. "I'll go to Viscesment. The trial and executions will have more impact if the Patriarch's cousin presides."

Hecht growled, "If the executions are of somebody besides some poor spear carrier."

Doneto glared at him, for the first time in his recollection directly angry.

Principate Delari squeezed his elbow again.

'Titus, that's how we'll do it." He bowed slightly to Doneto. "It's in your hands, Your Grace. Please move swiftly, lest the wound fester."

It might be useful to have Bronte Doneto far from the main camp, too.

"I do understand that, Captain-General. I'll be on the road within the hour." Doneto turned and left.

Give the man his due. He traveled without an entourage. He could move fast when he decided to do so.

Hecht waited fifteen seconds to ask, "You think he was behind it?"

Delari said, "No. His anger was genuine. The Society is fast becoming more curse than sword. They win no friends for the Church."

Hecht mused, "So how long do I have to sit here while they make our future more difficult? Sublime has become as wishy-washy as Duke Tormond."

Consent said, "We could get lucky. Tormond and the Patriarch could just sit there waiting for the other guy to die."

"A vision likely prayed for by millions."

Principate Delari opined, "The news from Viscesment should inspire Sublime. He'll think the murder was a good thing. He'll convince himself that the collapse of the Viscesment Episcopals will follow. That all he needs to do now is exterminate heretics. Who, being inhuman minions of the Adversary, will just line up for execution."

Heartbeat normal again, Hecht said, "Titus, Colonel Ghort is bringing prisoners from Sonsa. Meet him. Take charge of them. Bring them to Principate Delari. Any couriers going to Viscesment are not to say anything about Ghort or Sonsa."

Hecht tried to get back to the work of the day. He was too restless. He told Delari, "I need to get out in the air. Walk some of this energy off."

"I understand."

Sergeant Bechter followed Hecht out of the mill. Several lifeguards did the same. Hecht wanted to tell them all to go away. He did not waste his breath. They would not go. Bechter said, "Sir, I saw that man in brown again this morning."

"If he's being that obvious he must want to talk."

"Sir?"

"I know who he is, now. He's all right."

"Who is he?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. An Instrumentality in his own mind. But he's no danger. Except to the fool who gets in his way."

"A sorcerer?"

"Of the first water. Let's walk down to those meadows south of camp. Where they pasture most of the animals. We'll watch traffic on the river." He felt like a stress-free conversation about mules or oxen with Just Plain Joe. Joe and his mule Pig Iron were completely comfortable with their lives. What a wonderful peaceful, prosperous world it would be if everybody in it was like Pig Iron and Joe.

Six lifeguards tagged along. They remained at a distance once Hecht left the confines of the camp. They knew where he was headed.

A breeze stirred the meadow. It carried the perfume of late season flowers. There were few trees this side of the river, and only scattered shrubs. The hillsides to the east bore splashes of yellow, carmine, and violet, and several shades of green. The army's animals had not yet stripped the land of fodder. In the distance a bleak gray ruin of a castle watched over the river. Hecht did not know its name or story. The river itself was a sluggish band of olive drab syrup, showing no hint of current. On the Connecten bank Patriarchal troops had raised a palisade round the hamlet of the ferrymen. There was plenty of timber over there. Hecht had work parties harvesting some to build rafts. He had a few more men cross over every day. A casual, slow invasion.

This appeared to be fertile land. Some calamity must have befallen it. Else these meadows would be wine country or farmland like the rest of Ormienden.

Curious. That river down there, the Dechear, was one of the great traffic ways of the continent. Traders had been sailing it before the rise of the Old Brothen Empire.

He did not see Just Plain Joe. Pig Iron, the unmistakable mule, stood out, lording it over the cavalry mounts.

Hecht asked, "Does it feel like the wind is getting cooler?"

No response. He looked around. He was alone. He had wandered away from his protectors. Who didn't seem to have noticed.

His amulet itched something fierce.

He started toward the lifeguards.

"Wait."

Cloven Februaren stood a dozen feet away, having materialized out of nowhere.

"Ah. Ah?"

"Enunciation, Piper. Enunciation. Don't make people think you're a lackwit."

"I'd heard you were lurking around. What is it?"

"You did? How can that be? I've used the strongest sorceries to remain unseen."

"What is it?" The man in brown frightened him. Little else did. He was testy because he considered that a failing.

"I want to caution you. There are schemes afoot with you as their target."

"Not really news."

"True. But arrows are in flight. I don't know what. Or where. But it's coming. Also, it's time to rid you of that amulet. I've created a replacement that will do everything it does, including cloud men's minds when they start asking you about your background. And it may polish up your personality besides."

Februaren laughed outright at Hecht's expression. "That's not true. But, face it, Piper. You're a bit of a stick."

"Why are you here?"

"To swap your amulet for a new and improved version that won't let your great enemy track you. And for the same reason I'm always nearby. To be your guardian angel."

Hecht prepared to quarrel.

"How many times have they tried to kill you?"

Hecht counted off, starting with the effort by Benatar Piola, in Runch, on the Brotherhood island of Staklirhod.

"Very good. At least you do recall the ones you were aware of at the time."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, you thickheaded and ungrateful excuse for a descendant, that you've survived another two attempts for every one you know about. Thanks mainly to your great-great-grandpa. Since the end of the Calziran Crusade, you've become the focus of an assassination industry."

The old man made no sense. He never had. Hecht said so.

"You're right, Piper. Insofar as your argument goes. You're a talented military personality. You've had some luck. You've had support from some hidden sorceries. But there's no reason to think you're likely to reshape the world. Easier to assume you've triggered a lethal obsession in someone of immense power."

"That's easy. The Rascal. I've never been close to anyone else who has his connections with the Instrumentalities of the Night."

"The Rascal?"

"Er-Rashal el-Dhulquamen. The great…"

"I know who he is. From the little I've been able to find out, he seems the most likely candidate for being your great enemy. And he's completely mad."

"Really?"

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Piper. Let's get this amulet change done. Your bodyguards have begun to develop a vague notion that something is going on. Give me your left hand."

Whatever happened next, it did not stick in Hecht's mind. After some vague fumbling around his left wrist, there was a moment when he felt like he had been relieved of the weight of the world. Then he was standing in the middle of the meadow, alone. His left wrist itched horribly.

For an instant he thought he must be something more than just Piper Hecht, Captain-General of the Patriarchal armed forces. The word soultaken came to mind. He drove it out.

He might be something wicked, after these years with the Unbeliever, but a tool of the Instrumentalities of the Night he was not, nor would he be.

Before he shook his disorientation completely disconcerted lifeguards surrounded him again.

He had had enough fresh air.

"Bechter! Titus! What is this?" Hecht had found four similar rings on his map of the End of Connec. The map lay on its own crude table. It never got put away. Three rings were silver. The other was gold.

Bechter and Consent arrived. Consent said, "I don't know."

The rings were covered with symbols, none Chaldarean. Two lay atop sites where serious setbacks for Sublime's cause had occurred. Places where Arnhanders and Grolsachers, striving to do God's work, had suffered severe defeats.

Another ring lay on Viscesment. The last rested atop Antieux, eighty miles to the southwest in the End of Connec.

"Sergeant Bechter, see if you can't find the Principate for me."

"Which one?"

"How many do we have? Did Doneto sneak back?"

"No. But two more showed up last night. The Bruglioni and Gorin Linczski from Aparion."

"Linczski? I don't know him. And that name doesn't sound Aparionese."

"I think he's from Creveldia, originally. Sedlakova could tell you about him."

"Why are they here?"

Bechter shrugged. "Aparion? Sonsa?"

"The old man is the one I want."

"On the way, then."

"Bechter, when people like that turn up I want to hear about it when they're still on the horizon. Not the next day. No exceptions. No excuses."

Principate Delari said, "The meaning would be between you and grandfather. You talked to him?"

Hecht nodded. "Mostly he talked about saving me from people who want me dead. You're sure it was him?"

"Yes. The rings may have belonged to someone who had you marked as a target. Though that's just a guess. I couldn't understand him half the time when he explained things face-to-face. Let me study the rings." Seconds later, "They all have the same symbol stamped inside." He indicated a trident that looked like a diving bird. "Piper?"

"Sorry. I was startled. I've seen that before. It's a pagan religious symbol. From antiquity."

"Eastern?"

"I saw it there. But I think it turned up everywhere before the Old Empire tamed the Instrumentalities of the Night."

"Let's look at the map again." After fifteen seconds' study, "Has anyone plotted the appearances of the revenants in the Connec?"

"Revenants?"

"Hilt. Rook. Weaver. Shade."

"Never heard of those last two."

"More of the same. Personifications. Discord. Crop disease."

"Saints?"

Delari chuckled. "You might say. Answer the question."

"I can't. Titus can, I'm sure." He called downstairs for Consent. When Titus arrived, Hecht said, "We need to know where all those weird things were seen. In the Connec."

"Sir?" Consent seemed unfocused.

"Rook. Hilt. Those things. I know you've heard the stories. We've talked about it"

"Oh. Yes. I kept a journal on that."

"Show us some whereats on the map."

"All over here. Where the Grolsachers first turned up. The Sadew Valley." Consent went on. Sightings had been grouped closely where two of the rings had lain. But the ande Lette area had produced the most sightings. No ring lay there.

"What about Antieux? Or Viscesment?"

"No reports there yet."

"Interesting," Delari said.

"Is something wrong, Titus?" Hecht asked.

"Sir?"

"You seem distracted."

"I just got a letter from Noe. Anna and the kids are fine. They've moved back to her house."

Hecht knew. As the Captain-General's woman Anna could take advantage of the courier service.

"She had bad news?"

"My uncle Shire. You met him. Shire Spereo. He died."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you. But it isn't your problem. What I don't understand is, he committed suicide."

"Wow! That doesn't seem like him."

"You're right. But there have been several unlikely suicides since Gledius Stewpo went."

"Is something going on?"

"If there is I can't work it out. They were all old guys. Except for Stewpo and another refugee from Sonsa, they hadn't left the quarter in twenty years."

Principate Delari asked, "Were they wealthy?"

"Sure. That's about all they had in common. Though they all knew each other."

Delari nodded to himself. "Bring me your notes about sightings of old Instrumentalities. On the other matter, ask how those men became wealthy. Could their consciences be catching up?"

Consent cocked his head slightly, mouth open. 'That's an interesting thought." He shuddered. "I'll get the journal." He clumped down the stairs.

Before Hecht asked, Delari said, "No. Not me." Then, "But maybe Grade's mission didn't die when he did."

"Small world. If that's it."

"It is a small world when it comes to the people who shake it. And there are far fewer coincidences than we want to believe. The Instrumentalities of the Night weave schemes that arc across generations. We can't see ourselves caught in the web."

Hecht had created Piper Hecht so thoroughly that he was not tempted to challenge that heresy.

"You're amused?" Delari asked.

"The normal course of business here could put us on the Society's list. To do my job right I have to take into account the misbehavior of beings that I'm not supposed to believe exist."

"You can believe. You just can't call them gods." The old man chuckled. "We need to find out what unusual things have happened in the areas the rings marked."

"But…"

"Not just something that might be Rook scattering maggots. Any unusual, unexplained events. Any unusual histories. At this remove, even the most ancient folklore."

"Titus could send people to find out. But we can't twiddle our thumbs while he does." The Connec was growing less restive. The flood of Grolsacher refugees had begun to dry up. The disorganized bands of Amhander crusaders had decided to wait on Sublime because it had begun to look like the Patriarch meant to let them do the dying before he swooped down on a province too exhausted to resist.

"Doneto's party must have the upper hand, now. That can't last. But I've had a thought about the ring business. Suppose those are places where someone liberated scattered bits of the Old Gods?"

"Deliberately?" Hecht asked.

"Deliberately."

"Why would anyone do that? The Night is bad enough now. Who'd want to bring back the Old Ones?"

"That would be the question, wouldn't it? Who and why. And is it real? Is it just a partisan campaign using fragments to create terror? Are the fragments themselves genuine? I could pull together an artificial monster able to ape the more blatant traits of one of the Old Gods."

"There was a god in the north. Who predated the Old Gods, even. Kharoulke the Windwalker. Who couldn't come past the edge of the ice. There's a Windwalker supposedly loose, now. Almost as bad as the original. That couldn't be a modern re-creation, could it?"

'Today's Kharoulke the Windwalker is an example of an unforeseen consequence."

"Your Grace?"

"Certain fading Old Gods sent soultaken to destroy someone they called the Godslayer. Because they did, several unwittingly positioned themselves to be slain. One of the soultaken, connected too intimately to divinity, ascended to become a Great Demon himself. The ascendant, lusting after revenge on those who conscripted him, went after those still surviving. He confined them in a pocket world he created inside the pocket universe they had created for themselves as their realm of the gods. That isolated them so completely that they couldn't constrain the monsters they put down in the dawn of their time. So things like the Windwalker can now come back."

Hecht stared. He realized his mouth was open. "Uh… How did you put all that together?"

"I pay attention. You can pick the trick up if you want."

Titus Consent rematerialized. "Here's the journal, Your Grace."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Are we in imminent danger from a ferocious Connecten horde?"

"There may be ferocious Connectens, Your Grace, but those people couldn't put together a horde if they promised twenty gold pieces to every man who showed up."

"Then you can afford to take time to relax, Piper. That would be good for your soul."

Pinkus Ghort returned. In his train were prisoners, plus hostages given by the Three Families of Sonsa. The Captain-General arranged a meeting as soon as he could.

Ghort came in saying, "Shit, Pipe, that was exhilarating. Ain't nothing better than catching your target with his pants down."

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. I'll let you try your luck on Antieux next."

"I'll hang back and take notes on that one, you don't mind. Them folks won't get caught napping or stupid again in this lifetime."

"So what did you get?"

"I got Bit and Tiny but the Witchfinders was long gone. Bit thought they ran off to the Durandanti but we didn't find them there. It does look like they made that one gold shipment disappear, though. What's this I hear about Bronte Doneto running off to Viscesment?"

"We surprised them, too. He went to take charge of Immaculate."

"He didn't do so good, eh?"

"One wonders."

"Meaning?"

"Let's talk to Bit."

"Figured you wouldn't want to give her no more time to think. She's downstairs."

"Good. Two more Principates turned up. They haven't come to see me yet. They're very interested in Sonsa, I hear. One is from Aparion. Keep him away from our newfound friends. If you can. Bring her up."

Ghort bellowed down the stairs.

Two men brought the woman. Titus Consent trailed them. Principate Delari came along behind Consent.

Ghort whispered, "You all right with them?"

"They may be useful."

Bit remained uncowed. Not defiant, though. Just accepting. Fate had overtaken her. That happened in life.

She had chosen a hard profession.

She recognized Hecht immediately. "Mathis Schlink. I thought you were more than you seemed. Why drag an old whore all the way up here?"

"I have questions. I'm too busy to come to you."

She forced a smile. "Of course."

"Be seated, if you like."

The old woman settled into a canvas chair. She glanced around. Principate Delari examined her intently, moving several times to get a different view. That troubled her, clearly. Maybe she feared recognition.

Hecht said, "You know Buck Fantil. The youngster is Titus. He's more dangerous than he looks. The other gentleman is an eye for the Collegium."

Bit was a practical sort. "What do you want to know?"

"You were involved with men from the Special Office of the Brotherhood. What were they up to?"

"Special Office? They didn't mention that. Some had been hiding at the Ten Galleons since the Deve riots."

Principate Delari positioned himself behind Bit, out of her sight. He nodded. She was telling the truth.

"You had to think they were up to something, working out of your place all that time."

"Yes. But they paid well for the privilege."

"I'll turn you over to Titus eventually. Tell him the story from the beginning. Name any names you heard. And anything you overheard that seemed unusual."

"I… Of course."

"The reason being, those Witchfinders were working against the Patriarch and the rest of the Brotherhood. They may have been seduced by the Adversary."

Bit did not buy that.

Neither did Hecht. But it was a hypothesis fit to make people think.

"Tell me about Vali Dumaine, Bit."

The old woman frowned. "Give me more to go on. I don't know the name."

One of the staff assistants showed himself long enough to beckon Titus Consent, who went over, whispered, then followed the man downstairs.

"Buck and I came to the Ten Galleons. We did our business. You helped us disguise ourselves to get back out. So you wouldn't get burned out by the thugs then closing in. Women and children were part of our disguise."

"You're asking about the one who wouldn't come back."

"I am."

"What did she tell you?"

"That isn't the subject. The subject would be, who is she?"

"A natural-born liar. She convinced the other girls that she'd been kidnapped…"

Bit was a hard woman who had survived in a difficult trade for a long time. It took a lot to intimidate her.

Principate Muniero Delari was a lot, however.

She stammered.

"Bit, cut through it. I want to know who the girl is."

"I said. A natural-born liar. A natural-born actor. I bought her from her mother. Doing the woman a favor. She needed the money. And I've been sorry ever since, haven't I?"

Hecht glanced at Delari, who shook his head. Bit hadn't gotten up close with the truth yet. Hecht said, "Real name, Bit. Mother's name."

This line of questioning was not what the old madam had prepared for. "I think it was Erika Xan."

Titus Consent came back to the head of the stairs. He waved for attention. Hecht nodded, held up a finger. "Your Grace, this woman is incapable of telling the truth. Why don't you work on her for a few days?" He went to see what Consent wanted.

Titus said, "Colonel Smolens wants to know if you want to keep control of the Viscesment bridges."

Surprised that Consent would interrupt with that, he said, "Yes. Even if we don't need them ourselves, we decide who does use them. Has he dealt with those assassins?"

"Three. He sent us the fourth. Who wants to buy his life by spinning tall tales."

"We can see about that after we're done here. Is that it?"

"No. There's news out of the Connec. Duke Tormond's uncle, who rules Castreresone on Tormond's behalf, has died."

"And that's important because?"

"Castreresone passes to Tormond's sister Isabeth. Who is the wife of Peter of Navaya. Meaning Peter now has cause to take offense if we attack Castreresone."

"I don't like it. That sounds contrived. Report as soon as you know anything for sure."

"I'm sure it was arranged. This might be why Sublime hasn't given the go order."

"Maybe. But this isn't critical. And I'm busy."

"I'm sorry, sir." Consent retreated downstairs.

"What was that?" Delari asked.

Hecht sketched the news.

"A scheme to keep Sublime preoccupied sounds likely. Sit down. The lady has been made cognizant of the implications of her situation."

"You ready to cooperate, Bit?"

"Your sorcerer convinced me. It makes more sense to fear the devil at hand than the one lurking in your imagination."

"Absolutely true. Tell me about the girl."

"Erika Xan brought her. She said she was the girl's mother. She wasn't. Erika Xan had dark hair, dark eyes, and dusky skin. The child doesn't. She speaks Firaldian with very little accent. Erika Xan had a heavy Artecipean accent. She paid me well to hide the girl. She never came back to reclaim her."

Hecht looked for Principate Delari's opinion.

"She's telling the truth she believes."

"Artecipea again."

"Yes."

"Bit, why hear this Erika Xan's appeal in the first place?" Her scowl told him that was a question she had hoped she would not be asked.

"She was my cousin. On my mother's side. At one time she was in the life, too, but she found a sponsor. She was scared to death when she came to me. She was mixed up in something really wicked. She wouldn't talk about it."

"And she was Artecipean. Meaning you're Artecipean."

"Yes."

"I missed. I thought you sounded Creveldian."

Principate Delari asked, "Where is your cousin today, madam?"

"I don't know. I assume that what scared her caught up with her."

"And she told you nothing about the girl?"

"No."

"Piper, I believe her. She didn't want to tell the truth and only sidled up to it, but she told it in the end. Madam, what is the child's real name?"

"I don't know."

Hecht asked, "Where did she come up with Vali Dumaine?"

"She never used that around me."

Delari said, "Yes, Piper. Ever more threads lead to Artecipea."

Hecht asked, "Bit, did your cousin mention where she'd come from? Or where she'd gotten the money she paid you?"

"She came from the island. I expect she stole the money."

"And she told you nothing about what was going on?"

With strained patience, "She was running. She didn't have time."

Principate Delari stopped Hecht's interrogation. "Wait, Piper."

He waited. The old man meditated more than a minute, then said, "Other lives, other ways of thinking, Piper. You can understand that."

Hecht nodded. A brothel was foreign territory. How could he understand how things were done there? "Who else did Ghort bring back?"

"Mostly hostages from the Three Families, but some relatives of this woman as well."

"I want a girl Vali's age. This one's granddaughter. I don't remember the name."

"I think we have that one."

The old woman showed no reaction. A hard life had schooled her well. She said, "Interrogating the mistress of a sporting house is a waste of time, Captain-General. The essence of the profession is discretion. Clients expect you to fail to pay attention."

Delari responded, "That, madam, is first cousin to your earlier fabrications. Every whore or whoremaster who ever was looked for ways to squeeze their marks. You may not be able to provide the answers the Captain-General wants. But you will be honest when you answer him. Or this will be a long visit for you."

Hecht had the old woman returned to Ghort. "We have to explore this Artecipean connection. It just keeps coming up."

"Knowing my grandfather, that's already well under way."

"He's out there, you know. Sniffing around like a wolf scouting a sheep cote. Which reminds me. Mutton would be a nice change."

"Are you ready to question the Society assassin?"

"It never ends."

"If you'd stayed a spear carrier you'd be somewhere loafing right now, hoping your petty officer won't find you and make you dig a latrine or cut firewood."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you made your choices. You said yes every time someone handed you more work. Oh!" Delari went white. He slammed both hands to his chest. For an instant Hecht thought it was his heart. Then -

The earth slammed up, fell down, shimmied like a belly dancer's bottom. There had been tiny, barely perceptible tremors for days. Nothing like this. Accumulated dust and dirt fell from higher up in the mill. Chunks followed. "Downstairs!" Hecht ordered. "Everybody out! Earthquake!" Hecht's left wrist itched cruelly. "It's sorcery, not…"

Principal Delari, a ghastly pale, already starting down, said, "I know. Get out. Get the situation under control."

The panic faded. Hecht got down and out. He pushed through a mob of gawkers, all facing downriver. The ruined castle could not be seen. A cloud of dust, or fog, intervened. A breeze shredded that and carried it westward, over the river into the Connec.

Principate Delari poked Hecht in the ribs. "Don't gawk, move."

Hecht moved. Toward the cloud. Which faded to a trace.

His wrist continued to nag. He barked, "Colonel Sedlakova! Have the officers assemble on me immediately."

The earth continued trembling.

From the vantage of a hummock two hundred yards southeast of the mill Hecht could see that a quarter mile of hillside, sloping toward the river, had split like a rip in the seat of too-tight trousers. At several points he saw a pale bluish mother-of-pearl surface. Pulsing.

Puffing, Muniero Delari trudged past. "Come along, Piper. Come along." The old man's course angled uphill. He wanted a closer look at the crack.

The ground shivered. The pearlescent blue moved.

Pinkus Ghort caught up as Hecht and the old man climbed to where they could look down the length of the tear in the earth. He blurted, "Holy shit! It's a giant-ass fucking worm!"

"Grub," Delari corrected. "A larval stage." A wave of motion ran along the thing in the crack. Its downhill end moved forward slightly. The itching at Hecht's wrist amplified severely. "Piper! You should…"

Hecht had decided what he should. "Consent!" Puffing, Titus was catching up. Random officers followed, seriously confused. "Bring out the falcons! With special loads! I need them up here yesterday! Your Grace. Are we seeing what I think we're seeing?"

"The birth of a god. More or less."

"But what… ?"

"I don't know anything you don't. This could be the hatching of an egg left over from before mankind reached this part of the world. But we don't have the luxury of taking time to worry about who, what, where, and all that. We have to act."

True. That thing would be no friend of Piper Hecht's. Or anyone else round here.

It was Esther's Wood all over again. Another race against time. That thing was maturing. He could sense it nursing on what little free power was in circulation nearby. Soon it would want to feed in earnest.

A backward curved horn began to form atop the downhill end.

"That the head down there?" Hecht asked.

"It would seem," Delari replied.

"Pinkus, you aren't in the chain of command but you have a way with words. Go make those gawking fools take this seriously." The whole army wanted to see the monster. No one seemed smart enough to be scared. "Tell my idiot officers I want everyone moving upriver. With the animals. Except the artillerists."

The falcon crews were running round in confusion in the meadow where they had built bunkers to store their weapons and firepowder. Hecht hoped they would not try to tow the weapons. No. Here came Kait Rhuk and his gang, two men dragging the falcon and three lugging ammunition. The other crews seemed intent on following Rhuk's example.

Hecht told Principate Delari, "I should go run this show. They know what to do only in theory. If you think of anything useful to do, don't hesitate." He stumbled down the slope. Several officers intercepted him. He repeated his orders to get everyone out of harm's way. "This thing is going to want to eat. Let's don't be its first meal."

Clej Sedlakova asked, "What're you going to do?" Hecht thought it worth noting that the handicapped officer was among the first actually to come for instructions.

"I'm going to kill it."

Seven falcons were in position. The other three crews were still getting organized. There would be personnel adjustments later. If there were survivors.

The god grub continued trying to shake the chains of the earth. Hecht moved down to the front end, which had come out of the ground a few dozen yards from the river. That end had developed obvious mouth parts and dark patches where eyes might appear.

Pinkus Ghort jogged up. Hecht demanded, "What're you doing back here?"

"I couldn't miss this."

"You could be as sorry as you've ever been. Rhuk! Weber! Stand by. Hell, Pinkus, we need to get behind those things."

Rhuk and Weber took his sudden movement for the signal to fire.

The simultaneous roar of both pieces, hurling sulfurous hot gases, felled Hecht and Ghort. Hecht rolled over in time to see hundreds of black spots appear on the grub's vast face. Three more falcons discharged, raking the monster's length.

The earth shook. Three-quarters of the grub rose into the air. It crashed back. Hecht, trying to get up, went down again.

The acne spots on the grub grew quickly. As did the spots that would become eyes.

"Get the eyes!" Hecht shouted. "Keep it blind!"

More falcons barked. The least competent crews were in place. Rhuk and Weber prepared their second shots.

Principate Delari limped down to where Hecht had given up trying to get his feet under him, dropped to his knees. Shaking his head. "There's no choice. I know there's no choice. I can't guess what spawned this… There's going to be a storm, Piper."

Hecht had no chance to ask what that meant. Falcons discharged. They ruined the face of the grub and tore smoldering black wounds along its length. Ten thousand tails of vapor, like feathers stirring in the breeze. The grub shook and screamed – inside every mind for miles.

Hecht's new amulet was not supposed to hurt. Good thing. He could not imagine how bad the pain would have been were he wearing er-Rashal's gift.

There was always ambient power in the world. It kept the ice at bay, made sorcery possible, fed the Instrumentalities of the Night. Like air, the power was always there. Like air, its presence went unnoticed. It became notable only when it was absent.

Rather than absorbed, the ambient power began to be sucked into the god grub. Its wounds stabilized.

Hecht made a whimpering noise.

Principate Delari shouted. The storm had arrived. "This is too damned expensive!"

The falcons barked raggedly, voices nearly lost in the psychic roar. A power vortex began to form above the grub. It darkened and grew, spinning, streaked with threads of every imaginable color.

Delari said, "You have to get your men away from here. If the falcons don't work…"

"It's under way." The officers had gotten the rubberneckers moving at last.

Hecht spied Cloven Februaren back up the slope. Which had begun to shake with vigor.

The light grew feeble. Hecht barely made out Februaren falling. He headed for the old man, moving as though through waist-deep honey. Muniero Delari shouted something he did not understand.

The old man uphill tried to get his feet under him. He fell again and began to slide toward the tear where the grub had begun to thrash.

Two more charges ripped along its flank and back. And did not fade.

And did not fade.

The black began to spread.

The deep honey drag weakened.

The grub's thrashing increased. Like the writhing of a broken snake.

A sour, stink bug reek hit Hecht. His nose and eyes watered.

Cloven Februaren's slide toward catastrophe quickened.

The old man clawed at the grass. Hecht knew he would not get there in time.

The old man's left foot tangled in a ground-hugging vine. Hecht did get there as Februaren swung end for end. He snagged the old man's tangled ankle, ripped him loose, pulled him in, hoisted him onto his shoulder, and ran.

Instinct more than thought drove him. He had trouble staying upright. The grub kept punishing the earth around it. The stench punished the air.

He had staggered a hundred yards, gasping painfully, when he recalled the Gray Walker's death.

He pushed even harder, till the fire in his chest forced his collapse. He dragged himself into a low place, pulling Cloven Februaren. The ancient muttered some unintelligible warning.

Where was Muniero Delari?

Lightning filled the universe. The ground shook its worst yet. The earth itself rumbled but no thunder followed the ferocious flash.

Cloven Februaren moved feebly. He tried to say something. Hecht could not hear. The old man stabbed one weak finger.

Hecht looked.

A pillar of scarlet stood a thousand feet tall, its red deepening fast. A red and black ball churned atop it. It seemed to include a cherubic demon's face, looking for something it could never see because it was blind.

Hecht lay there a long time, watching. The pillar degenerated into smoke and soot. Some drifted on the wind. Most fell in a fine black snow.

The old man wanted him to do something.

Get up and take charge. Get up and find Muniero Delari. Get up and growl defiance at the Night.

Hecht got his feet under him. He had no strength left. He spotted a wooden shaft nearby. It had been part of a tool for swabbing the bore of a falcon. Now it was a broken stick but long enough to lean on.

He got the pole, then hoisted the old man. "Hang on. I can't carry you anymore. But I'll go slow."

Februaren grabbed hold, then tried to say something about pain in his side.

Hecht moved a dozen yards uphill, to a vantage from which he could see how fortunate he had been to get down when he had.

From that small eminence he could see that half the world had been toasted. Fires still burned where bushes and trees had stood. Smoke still rose from burnt grass. Yet patches and stripes of green spotted and wove through it all, fading into obscurity beneath falling soot.

A firepowder caisson exploded.

The falcon in a smoldering carriage nearby looked like wax left too long in the sun.

There were human shapes everywhere. Those in the black were charred, though a few still tried to move. Songs of pain rose all around. From the greens, though, healthier men appeared, all fascinated by the collapsing tower above the god grub pyre.

The black extended a quarter mile toward the mill. Which still stood, though its ruined sails had fallen and were burning. The black itself faded into the brown of dead grass, then the yellow-green of sick grass. A mile away the earth was normal.

The ruined castle had collapsed. A gray dust cloud still trailed downwind.

Februaren made a feeble gesture indicating direction.

"Go. Help Muno."

Hecht set him down where he could be found easily, then shuffled off as fast as his body would allow.

He found the Principate a hundred yards away, stirring weakly in a low place that had not been quite low enough. Delari's backside had been crisped. His behind had suffered local roasting. "Principate? Can you understand me?"

Delari made funny noises. Hecht turned him gently. There was blood in the old man's nose and mouth. He wiped at it with his fingers, having nothing better to hand. Delari croaked, "Grandfather?"

"He's alive. Maybe a little bruised from me falling on him. I don't know about anyone else. I see a lot of bodies."

Another cask of firepowder exploded. The Patriarch would be livid about the waste.

"Anyone who… wasn't in a… direct line… should be all… right."

A racking cough seized him. It sounded like the cough that had dogged Grade Drocker when he was dying.

Was his conscience dredging up evils to haunt him?

Delari gasped, "I'm not broken… like Grade. I'll… recover." He tried to get onto his hands and knees. He managed, but not without a cry of pain. "What the hell?" He panted like a dog for twenty seconds, then tried to reach back behind him.

Hecht told him, "You didn't get all of you down out of the flash."

"How can I… ever go back… to the baths?"

Hecht chuckled. "I'm wondering how you're going to ride."

A voice suggested, "On a litter, facedown." Cloven Februaren had arrived unnoticed. Much recovered. He wore a broad smile. "This should be amusing in the baths."

Delari snapped, "When did you ever visit the baths? And don't you think you ought to be a little less visible? I'm not the only member of the Collegium here. The rest are going to come weaseling around trying to profit now the danger is past." He turned slightly, looked over Hecht's shoulder. "Here comes Ghort."

Pinkus, with stripes burned on his clothing, wobbled as he walked. He tripped, spent half a minute on hands and knees before getting his feet under him again. Hecht moved his way. When he glanced back Cloven Februaren was gone.

"How did he do that?"

Delari said, "I wish I knew. It would be handy in a few minutes."

Gervase Saluda and the Principate from Aparion were leading the return of the curious. Carefully.

Hecht said, "Saluda is no coward."

"Nor is Gorin Linczski. He spent several years in the Holy Lands. Their caution is justified."

A recollection from Esther's Wood. "If you're able… Let's look in that crack." Titus Consent and other officers were headed his way, too. The falcon crews had begun to rematerialize.

Another keg of powder cooked off. Those approaching hit the ground.

Moving toward the crack, Hecht asked, "Can you manage?"

"Just don't ask me to run."

The ground nearer the grub gash was still hot. It hurt through Hecht's soles. Defunct sheep and goats spotted the slope. With their herd dog.

Delari gasped, "There's your mutton."

"We'll eat well tonight." He looked down. And saw what he expected. "There. The egg-shaped thing. Still glowing."

"Yes?"

He had to force it. "I've seen one before. In the Holy Lands. I don't know what happened to it." Which was as forthcoming as he could be. He glanced at the curious tide approaching. Most were distracted by distorted falcons, dead men and animals, and the gross impact of the god grub's demise.

From on high the devastation was appalling. Though mainly confined to nature. The abandoned castle was the only human construct to suffer extensive damage. The near countryside looked like the flank of a green and black zebra, the verdant stripes persisting wherever uneven ground provided protection. The breeze was removing the soot. Hecht asked, "What do you think?"

"It's too hot down there. And we need to keep anyone else from acquiring it. Tell me what the other one was like."

"A big amber egg. With shot from the falcon trapped inside."

"Interesting."

"You know what it is? What it means?"

"No. Suppose I intercept those two Principates and redirect their curiosity." Instead, though, he tipped his head slightly and scanned the blackened hillside. "What?"

"Checking for Grandfather. These two should be too young to recognize him. But why take a chance?"

Hecht had the feeling things were happening that he could not see. Too often he felt like a blind beggar in the streets of intrigue. "All right. Here comes Kait Rhuk, too. I can't imagine how he survived." The engine of his mind was turning again, as though fresh lard had been thrown on its wooden roller bearings.

There would be a lot to do. First and foremost, a muster to see who had survived and who had not.

Principate Delari headed toward his brethren from the Collegium. Hecht went to meet Rhuk.

"Mr. Rhuk. I can't say as I've ever seen such a demonstration of courage."

Rhuk had a heavy accent. His speech was hard to follow. "I don't know, sir. Meaning, I didn't know. Maybe did I before, I wouldn't a even come set up, let alone stood my ground and kept firing."

"Everyone probably feels that way."

"Yer old sorcerer, there. He have any idea what we just run into?"

"I'm not sure I believe him. A son of the Adversary. Trying to enter the world the way a butterfly does." Most people had observed the cycle of the butterfly as children.

"Interesting times," Rhuk understated.

"You all right?"

"Got a few splinters from a firepowder keg that went up. Otherwise, I'm fine. God loves me. I fell in a hole just in time."

"If you can operate, then, I declare you lord of the falcon artillery. You're in charge of finding out how bad we were hurt. How many weapons survived? How much ammunition? We need work parties to recover as much spent shot as we can."

Rhuk scowled.

"Success never goes unpunished in this army, Mr. Rhuk. I survived, too. So I get to do without sleep at all for the next few days."

Rhuk managed a weak grin before he bowed slightly and headed back downhill. Hecht was surprised to see how many artillerymen had survived.

That was the way, though, usually. Even the most horrific events turned out less terrible than the mind anticipated.

He thought he caught the Ninth Unknown in the corner of his eye but saw nothing when he looked. What was the old man up to now?

He had chosen his officers well. Despite the magnitude of the event, they had begun to restore order. The commanders of the smaller units seemed to be gathering their men for a head count – even before his order reached them.

What could he do about what might lie in the gash?

He moved a few steps farther into the black at the crack's rim. The soil crunched underfoot. A paper-thin layer had melted and hardened. The earth beneath was dryer than desert dust. And those few steps were all he could take before the residual heat became too intense.

He spied Madouc, a hundred yards toward the mill, in a ferocious sulk. "I forgot again. They'll have to kill me so I'll start staying where they can protect me." No excuse to avoid it, he marched down and apologized.

"I'm going to put bells on you. Sir."

The man was truly, richly angry.

Hecht was not contrite. If the bodyguards had been around he would not have gotten near the god grub.

Officers' call was over. Order had been restored. But morale was severely stressed. None of the men believed the monster had appeared coincidentally. Even long-service professional soldiers did not want to face surprises of that sort.

Hecht could neither argue nor reassure. He feared he had been targeted again. And he had survived by using the weapon the Instrumentalities so feared.

Lessons learned. On all sides.

This had been a close run, with ten falcons barking. It would take bigger weapons to fell… Don't even think that. Pray, instead, for Drago Prosek, who would have only two weapons when he met the monster in the Jagos.

The staff meeting following officers' call was glum. No one had much to say. Titus tossed in, "The news from Brothe isn't good. Apparently we're not sitting still because of negotiations but because the Patriarch is deathly sick."

Hecht figured his staff began rooting for Death. "Who might replace him? How would that affect us?"

Not something anyone had thought about. Including the Collegium. Sublime was young.

"We're a forward-thinking lot, aren't we?" Hecht said. "Get some sleep. We're looking at long days ahead. Titus. Stay. You know you don't need to sleep. You're not old enough."

"Yes, sir." Resigned.

Once the others cleared off, excepting Principate Delari, Hecht asked, "What became of our assassin from Viscesment? I didn't get to question him."

"Funny you should ask. He had the great misfortune to be the only rear echelon fellow to suffer a fatal event during the excitement."

"Titus."

"Somebody cut the asshole's throat."

"Principate? Wasn't he in your keeping?"

"In theory." Delari was angry. "I'd better check on Bit and her daughter. And the hostages. You'll find them very useful soon."

Consent told Hecht, "You don't seem surprised."

"I don't have much capacity for surprise left, Titus."

The Principates all showed up next morning, Delari arriving first. He presented a heavy ring, its inside stamped with the birdlike trident. "Not much else to say. If he hadn't been beaten half to death I'd let Armand find some other benefactor."

"Bit and the others?"

"Bit is dead. The daughter is worse off than Armand. There was a lot of blood." After a pause, "The boy did put up a fight. He marked them. They'll be found and dealt with. The hostages weren't harmed."

Gorin Linczski and Gervase Saluda arrived. They brought messages from the Collegium. In a shaky hand Hugo Mongoz wanted to know what the hell Hecht was doing, attacking Sonsa? That was the oldest letter. Another, from the Patriarch himself, in a hand shakier still, was enthusiastic about the capture of Viscesment and the Pretender Patriarch, but otherwise lacked substance.

Letters from various Principates ranged across a spectrum of attitudes. Hecht read them out of courtesy only.

Then Bronte Doneto appeared. "I didn't know you were back," Hecht said.

"I got in late. I should've left sooner. I missed the ruckus."

"Be happy you did. What happened with Immaculate?"

Doneto's story did not vary from what Hecht already knew. In the end, Immaculate II was dead. By the hand of someone not serving the interest of the Brothen Episcopal Church.

"I came back, though," Doneto explained, "because of a letter from my cousin. Spirited out of Krois, to me, because 'they' were censoring all his messages to you." Doneto handed Hecht a letter. The handwriting was less shaky than what he had seen earlier. It was dated before the missive about Viscesment.

"The sneaking out took a while."

"Yes. One of his sons finally managed."

"One of his sons."

"He has three. It isn't common knowledge."

For sure. Though Honario Benedocto had had a reputation for whoring around in his youth.

"I guess that's irrelevant."

"I'd say so."

"I'm supposed to have acted on this a month ago."

"It's never too late, Captain-General. My cousin understands that messages go astray. It's why we go redundant with important communiques. When we can."

Hecht was in no mood for low-level philosophical musings.

The letter had included the orders he had been awaiting, hoping they would not come. Had they arrived in a timely manner Antieux would be invested now. Likewise, Sheavenalle. The main force would be giving Castreresone attention it did not want. And Antieux would not have had time to evacuate so many of its most valuable people.

Persons with skills were resources, too, and prize commodities for the successful conqueror. Which was why Devedians could be found all round the marges of the Mother Sea.

Hecht reflected briefly on the fact that even the children of slaves were not loath to participate in the slave trade.

And the grandfather of the grandfather of a slave was not loath to punish slavers for their daring cruelty. Nor cared that he himself must have slaves amongst his own ancestors. Everyone did. Somewhere, far enough back.

Piper Hecht was angry about the tardiness of the go order. He was excited about the challenges, real and potential. All but a tiny portion of him had become Piper Hecht, Captain-General of the Brothen Episcopal Chaldarean Church.

"Hecht?"

"Sorry, Your Grace. I was eye to eye with the fact that I'm going to make history. The kind remembered long after the misery ends."

Doneto paused. As though this unconsidered thought had an impact now that it hung there in front of his face. "Real history. You could be right. When this army crosses the Dechear it will step into the rolls of history as far more than a footnote about a skirmish. A successful Connecten Crusade will define the future of the west."

"True. But there's no time to speculate about futures quickened or aborted by what we do. I'm a month behind, now." He wondered if the timing of the belated war order had more to do with hidden agendas than with difficulties in transit.

Hecht shouted downstairs. He wanted a staff meeting immediately, with an officers' assembly to follow. And he wanted the ferrying of troops increased.

Despite having received no orders earlier, Hecht had sent three thousand men across already. Their presence yonder would simplify the crossing for the rest. There would be no resistance.

An embarrassed Pinkus Ghort admitted, "They were my men, Pipe. Again." He meant the murderers, who had been betrayed by wounds they could not explain, then identified by Osa Stile and Bit's daughter.

"I assume you'll protect them till they've been questioned?"

"Yes, Pipe. I'm doing it!"

Hecht's anger subsided. Some. "Have they said anything yet?"

"Only that they don't know anything. They got offered a good bounty. The guy who hired them took off when he saw that the killings hadn't taken. His name was Ingram Five. Him and his brother Anton crossed the river right after the attacks. They didn't report in over there. They just kept on going."

"This stuff keeps happening. And we keep reacting. How do we get ahead of it, Pinkus? These villains don't work in a vacuum. People have to notice them. How do we get them to warn us before somebody gets killed?"

"You're on your way. The soldiers are more loyal to you than to Sublime. Give them a victory and you'll have them. They'll winkle out the villains on their own."

Armies deified successful commanders. Too many commanders let that go to their heads.

"I want to take it back to the source. Smash some skulls there. Throw some people in a fire pit. Be an altogether unpleasant guest."

"We'd need to invade Artecipea first. The threads all lead there."

Pinkus Ghort seldom seemed thoughtful. This was one of those rare times. "That don't make sense, Pipe. None of us ever had nothing to do with nobody from out there. I don't think. You? So how come somebody from there is hot to put you under?"

"I ask myself all the time. All I can come up with is, the Instrumentalities of the Night don't love us."

"Sure you ain't getting a bit of a swelled head, there?"

"Just brainstorming. Based on what Principate Delari has said. I might do something someday that will inconvenience the Instrumentalities of the Night. So they want to stamp me out before I can."

Hecht believed he had done what the Night feared already. He had turned up a tool that mortal men could use to end the Tyranny of the Night. Whatever the Night and its black agents did now would be throwing the bones with futility. The djinn was out of the lamp. And the lamp had melted down.

Hecht asked, "Has Bo finished?" Bo Biogna and his select thugs had been punished for their good work by being given the chance to collect materials of interest from the crack where the god grub surfaced. A gash vigorously sealed off by troops chosen by Titus Consent. Who were watched in turn by Brotherhood members supervised by Redfearn Bechter.

"He isn't finding any more amber pieces. His guys are still sifting pellets out of the dirt. They have to break the layer of glass to get it. They aren't finding enough silver to justify the work, though. Most of it burned up killing that thing."

Ghort drifted off into awed recollections. Then he shuddered. "Interesting times, Pipe. Interesting times."

Hecht sighed. "They are. But we're eating regular. I have a job for you. If you want it."

"You know me. A glutton for punishment. What?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

"It's possible. Just don't tell me anything I can sell for enough to retire on."

"This might be that."

"So. What've you got?"

"I want you to recruit men from the levies willing to stay on for pay."

"Not hard to come up with those. If you can pay them."

Hecht smiled tightly. "I can."

"How?"

"That's the secret you need to keep."

"You talked me into it, you sweet-talker."

"Smolens was in the right place at the right time. He picked off the latest specie shipment from Salpeno."

Ghort looked startled, then astonished. Then amused. "You're going to rob your own boss?"

"Isn't the money supposed to support this army? If I let it travel down to Brothe, then come back, how much will disappear along the way?"

"Most, probably."

"There you go. So, how about you take over the volunteer brigade?"

"We are going over the river, right?"

"Soon."

"I'm in. Bound to be something left worth stealing over yonder."

"Could be. You'll go to Antieux. You and Doneto. With Clej Sedlakova in charge. Keep Doneto from going totally berserk."

Ghort raised a questioning eyebrow. Hecht noted the gray there.

"I'd rather not be remembered for turning the Connec into a desert."

Ghort gave him a narrow look. "What'll you be doing?"

"I'm going to Castreresone. Smolens will try to take Sheavenalle."

"Castreresone? Even after Roger died?"

"Yes." It could not hurt to have Sublime V and King Peter nose to nose and fuming. "The confusion there should work to our advantage."

"Wish we'd gotten going sooner."

"So do I. So do I. Go on. You've got work to do."

As Ghort neared the head of the stairs, Hecht asked, "Is that daughter of Bit's still healthy?"

"She's recovering."

"Keep her safe. When you have trustworthy men going back to the city, send her along. I'll warn Anna that she's coming."

"You think you ought to ask her first?"

Hecht shrugged. "I should." But… "Principate Delari will want his plaything to go back, too. If he can travel." He would love to have Osa Stile out of the way.

"That kid gives me the creeps, Pipe. They's something stone wrong with him."

"Then you better be careful he doesn't sneak into your tent."

"Not funny, Pipe."

Hecht did wonder, sometimes. Ghort seldom talked about women. That was not right in a soldier.

The Captain-General watched the marching troops from a hillside that had been a vineyard once. "Pinkus would be disappointed if he knew," he told Cloven Februaren. The old man had turned up while Hecht was observing the force Sedlakova, Ghort, and Doneto were taking to Antieux. The Captain-General's lifeguards had yet to notice Februaren. The old man showed no sign of the pummeling he had suffered.

"The vines? Yes. I see. Those men seem healthy, trained, and modestly motivated. You've done well."

"Really? You walked up and none of these men noticed."

"Not to worry. They'll frustrate mundane dangers. I'll do the same to the Night."

"You weren't much help with that worm."

"You weren't paying attention, then. Why did it surface where it did, instead of under your mill?"

Hecht did not know. He shrugged.

"It surfaced where your old amulet was being worn by an unlucky goat. Somewhere, there's a very worried Dreangerean sorcerer." The old man chuckled.

Hecht did not know how to respond. Februaren had no reason to sidle round the truth.

The Ninth Unknown said, "You recall me saying that fools might ally with the elder Instrumentalities in hopes of gaining power and favor?" He surveyed Hecht's lifeguards. They were getting nervous.

"Yes."

"Those fools already exist. The trident ring is their emblem. Rudenes Schneidel is their western chieftain. Lieutenant to er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen. Who seems to be dedicated to restoring the Dreangerean gods of antiquity."

Hecht was not surprised. "There was always a suspicion that the old religion hadn't been expunged. Er-Rashal was marginal in his devotions at best, but too useful to punish."

"Your brothers in the Sha-lug band have worked this out for themselves. The man Bone has returned to Dreanger. He hopes to warn Gordimer by going through Nassim Alizarin."

"If Bone convinces the Mountain I foresee a difficult life for the Rascal."

"Don't forget what er-Rashal is."

The bodyguards heard ghost voices. They talked about it. But they could not see the old man, nor did they note their charge holding a conversation with something invisible.

"No doubt. They're getting nervous. You need to go soon."

"Yes."

"What did er-Rashal want with those mummies?"

"I don't know. But no good will come of him having them. Maybe he wants to conjure the shades of the sorcerers they used to be. Though he'd have to be atop one of the Wells of Ihrian to have enough power. And he'd need the support of the Night. Unless he prepared with extreme discretion, then moved too fast for the Instrumentalities to notice."

"Not likely, if they see threats two hundred years ahead."

"He could be in for a painful surprise. If he hasn't made the right alliances inside the Night." But that was the story of most sorcerers, including those who had infested Andesqueluz. They began to overvalue themselves and underrate the Instrumentalities of the Night. Then the Night devoured them.

The lifeguards were thoroughly unsettled now. None could stand still. But none had yet discovered the ancient in brown.

Hecht said, "What changed when we crossed the Dechear?"

"What do you mean?"

"We had no trouble with the Night east of the river. Just the mischief you get anywhere. But once we crossed over we started getting pestered. Bad. Like the spirits of rock and brook and tree are more offended by our presence than Count Raymone and his friends. Principate Delari seems indifferent. Or maybe he just can't explain."

"Might he be preoccupied with more pressing matters?"

"Sir?"

"The Night may be more active but it's still just a nuisance. Precautions you learned while you were crawling will head off most of the monkey business. Expect it to intensify. Yes. The land itself feels threatened. Because it is. And now it's time to go. Yon lad with the fine blond hair just caught something from the comer of his eye. He's going to mention it to someone."

The old man did a snappy about-face. And vanished as he finished. "No," Hecht muttered. "You don't just disappear."

"Sir?" Madouc had crossed twenty yards of abandoned vineyard in a blink.

"Thought I saw something. Out of the corner of my eye. But it wasn't there when I looked. Are they coming out in the daytime? Can they?"

"I don't know, sir. You should ask the Principates about that. But I think we should move you down where you'll be less exposed."

"Maybe so. Lead on." Hecht wondered why the Night would harass Patriarchal invaders but not those from Arnhand or Grolsach.

"That isn't true," Principate Delari said when Hecht made the point. "Arnhanders and Grolsachers alike have encountered a range of significant revenants. Rook and Hilt have been underfoot from the start. Weaver and Shade have turned up more than once. Others are stirring. Death. Skillen. Kint. Someone is freeing their bound fragments. Some may have pulled themselves together enough to start feeding on lesser spirits."

"I've never heard of those before. Death, Skillen, Kint?"

"Death is death. Personified. A reactive rather than a proactive. Not a claimer but a proclaimer."

"Huh?"

"Death shows up when it's time for somebody to die. Like a herald. Rook, Hilt, and the others come in to clean up."

"Skillen? Kint?"

"Misfortune. Despair."

"Did the ancients have any happy gods?"

"Does anyone? Today's gods range from unpleasant to psychotic. The God Who Is God, the All-Powerful and Merciful, when He bothers to show Himself – and note that He hasn't for several hundred years – only dispenses disasters, plagues, and pestilences. Likewise, the Devedian God and our Chaldarean deity, as currently edited. The Dainshaukin deity is a freak out of pre-history, always in an insane rage. None of them can fend for themselves. They need people like the Society to put words in their mouths and break bones in their names."

"I'm seeing a new side of you here."

"The Connec is upsetting my sense of discretion. God ought to be able to look out for Himself. If He doesn't like your heresy He can smack you down Himself."

"Pardon me. I'm going to move a few rods downrange so a stray lightning bolt don't pick me off by mistake."

"You just sealed your own doom, Piper. By definition, God can't make a mistake."

"He doesn't seem to mind sarcasm, either." Madouc moved in and out of hearing as the road climbed, descended, and meandered. He seemed appalled by what he heard.

Delari suggested, "Those of His minions who feel He needs occasional assistance could be anywhere, Piper. Maybe even among the lifeguards of the Captain-General of His Living Voice."

Hecht wanted to protest the absurdity. But it was not absurd. He had not chosen the bodyguards. Surely one would belong to the Brotherhood of War. The Society might have placed a spy, as well.

He did not respond. Aloud.

Delari added, "We're never so invulnerable that there isn't one worm who can bring us down."

"Not even you?"

"Not even me. They haven't forgotten me, Piper. They're biding their time. There'll come a day." There would. Of course. Those coals never burned out.

BUHLE SMOLENS CAME DOWN FROM THE NORTH. HE passed behind the main Patriarchal force. He turned over the captured Arnhander specie and records of all that he had done, investigated, and learned while in Viscesment. He picked up an additional two thousand men.

The material named and described several men he hoped to meet.

Witnesses in Viscesment believed them to be Artecipean. They fled into the End of Connec when Smolens arrived. Immaculate's more ardent supporters had done the same. Most were now in Antieux.

The Artecipeans had done nothing blatant while in Viscesment. Even so, the locals believed they were up to no good. Men with such ugly personal habits could only be villains.

The Night made itself more felt with each darkfall. Though never more than malicious mischief, the harassment sapped morale. Pinkus Ghort had trouble recruiting militiamen. When, despite their Chaldarean faith, every imaginable demon and malevolent sprite seemed possible, most wanted to relocate to where interaction with those entities was less likely.

There were few desertions from the Patriarchal force. And plenty of natives were willing to help the Church tame the heretics of the Connec.

The weather turned. Rains came. Not just the occasional shower whose misery faded in a few hours but frequent violent thunderstorms featuring high winds, massive lightning, and, often, accompanying barrages of hail. In calmer hours the sky remained overcast.

The wet did no good for equipment, clothing, boots, feet, or the hooves of the animals.

"It's natural," Principate Delari assured Hecht when he asked if the gods themselves were conspiring to destroy the army with mildew, mold, foot rot, and rust. "There's just more of it this year than normal. So the locals assure me." The sky seldom shone through.

The weather was inhospitable the day they sighted Castreresone. Its walls were as dreary as the sky. The folk of city and surrounding countryside were astonished to find a crusader army going into camp astride the broad old bridge over the Laur. There was never any contact with enemy scouts or skirmishers. The vedettes met no one but startled peasants and amazed travelers.

Hecht kept asking, "How could they possibly not know we were coming? No infantry force moves faster than the news of its coming."

Titus Consent opined, "They heard. They didn't believe. It isn't possible. Peter of Navaya is their shield now. Not even Sublime V is crazy enough to offend King Peter."

The Captain-General set his main camp across the river from the White City, with a strong force beyond the broad bridge, fortifying the Inconje bridgehead. The bridge itself was a glaring reminder that war was alien to the Connec. It should have been fortified at both ends. Its main span should have been designed to be demolished easily.

The east end of the bridge was surrounded by the low buildings of an unfortified suburb, Inconje, inhabited by prosperous Deves, Dainshaus, and others who could not find a place inside the city or its attached, walled suburbs, the Burg and the New Town. The population had all fled. They had left little worth stealing.

"Those are some impressive walls," Hecht said. "We won't be going over them. And we don't have enough men to lock them in and starve them out." Half the army had gone to Antieux or Sheavenalle. The capture of the port city was critical to the success of the campaign. "We'll just harass them till we come up with a few traitors willing to help us get in. I should've kept Sedlakova. He might see something I couldn't."

Consent suggested, "Talk to Hagan Brokke. He works harder than anyone. And he's maybe a little disgruntled because a one-legged man got first chance at Antieux. He thinks you take him for granted."

Hagan Brokke had been close through most of Hecht's Brothen career, in the City Regiment for the Calziran Crusade and now with the Patriarchals for the Connecten Crusade. Hecht had, indeed, taken one of his more talented officers for granted. "Does he know anything about siege work?"

"Talk to him."